


Spring

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Lord and Lady of Storm's End, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: Short stories about Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon, growing to be the Lord and Lady of Storm's End.Set after the show is finished, started in 8x05, so probably not canon compliant.





	1. Chapter 1

It was strange riding on Kingsroad again. When Arya had left Winterfell some weeks ago, she had left on a suicide mission, riding the dark stallion with the Hound – Sandor, she corrected herself quietly. She had tried to notice every stone, every tree and riverbed, for she would never see them again. She had wondered, how things would be if Robert Baratheon would never have arrived to Winterfell years ago, what if Sansa and Arya had stayed in Winterfell, what if her father wouldn’t been named the Hand of the King.

What if, what if, what if.

Now, there were hardly any ifs.

The Last War – Arya knew it wouldn’t be the last, for men were rotten and spoke easier with steel than words, but that’s what everyone called the battle in King’s Landing, now – had been won. Westeros was more or less a mess, after the dragon queen had succumbed to her wounds. Jon wouldn’t come back North for some time, for he was sorting out what would come next. Arya had no interest in politics and diplomacy like that, she wanted it to be over with and the world to settle down after years of being ravaged by wars and battles of bastards, kings and queens.

 

 _Now_ , Arya thought, _there was just one what if._ What if Gendry Baratheon wouldn’t forgive her for breaking his heart and refusing his proposal. What if Gendry had already left Winterfell, what if he had moved on.

What if she wouldn’t find the right words to soothe his anger or sadness, what if he couldn’t forgive her leaving alone.

 

Arya rode for a week and a half. She had spent two night at the camp outside King’s Landing, where her wounds were treated, and she had let Jon know she was alive and that she was going home.

And as the winds got colder and the nights were chilly, Arya knew she was heading home. She had switched horses a few times, barely sleeping but just stopping in inns for a bowl of stew, a few hours of restless sleep and once, a healthy and enduring horse.

The mare she was riding was not quite as white as the horse that had come to her in King’s Landing, but it was true northern breed, sure-footed and enduring of the cold. Arya knew there was just an hour’s ride ahead of her once she passed a small forest, sun setting behind her and making the world around her dark and cold; not as cold as the night of the Battle of Winterfell, she thought, but wrapped the wool blanket around herself tighter anyway.

 

The sight of Winterfell made Arya’s heart ache; most of the windows were lit up with oil or candles, and she could see people walking around the castle even if the night was falling upon them. Winterfell still needed a lot of repairing, but northern people were hopeful, now that the Long Night was over and the Last War had been won.

Arya rode down the hill to the castle, being greeted by few northern before she even reached the gate. She rode in the courtyard, taking in a lungful of chilly northern air, that was not matched by any other; not Bravos sea air, not forest air of Crossroads and definitely not the air in King’s Landing, before smelling like shit and now smelling like smoke and blood. Not that it replaced the shit smell.

Arya jumped off her horse, taking it to the stables, patting the mare gently as she took away the saddle and her own bags strapped to the horse’s back.

Arya couldn’t waste time, though – so instead of heading to her chambers or seeing Sansa, she made her way to the forge. She could hear hammer hitting steel, the chatter of the blacksmiths, but had not yet reached the entrance to the forge when her grey eyes caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and overgrown hair, as Gendry was loading steel pieces for rebuilding to a horse wagon. Arya stopped, drawing in a deep breath as she watched Gendry sort out the pieces, putting them in their separate piles, stained tunic sleeves rolled up and exposing the scarred, but muscular arms. Even from behind him, Arya could see his eyes were dark and his brows were furrowed.

For a second, Arya felt a strike of fear. It was not a fear for her family she had been feeling for the past months and it wasn’t even a fear for her own life, something she had discovered just a week or so prior when she was trying to get out of King’s Landing burning around her, after the absence of the said fear for years. Yet, the fear boiling in her belly was selfish; she was afraid Gendry really wouldn’t forgive her. On the Kingsroad, the thought had been much more abstract, but watching Gendry, alive and breathing in front of her, made Arya doubt.

Arya decided she needed to suck it up, hiding her nervous hands behind her back, the face not betraying her nervousness as she spoke, voice clear and sure.

“Aren’t you supposed to have your own blacksmiths at this point, Lord Baratheon?” The name sounded alien coming from her mouth, but her voice had a teasing edge – something similar to Gendry’s voice whenever he called her a lady. Arya felt a pain of regret when she thought back to the last time Gendry had called her a lady; when she asked her to be _his_ lady.

Gendry whipped around quickly, almost dropping the pieces he was holding, but in mere seconds his face was neutral again, yet his brows kept furrowed.

“I see you survived, once again.” His voice was distant, and Arya could see the hurt in his dark blue eyes; gods, were they always that blue, even in the dark of the night? Part of Arya wanted to leap to his arms, press her lips to his, feel as alive as before.

“I guess us Stark are hard to kill.” Arya shot back, then leaning against the stone on her right, one brow rising a bit in question. “But for real, I thought you would have already started doing … Lordy things.“

“Is that why you came back? Thought I had already left to Storm’s End.” He didn’t even bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“… No. Came back wishing you were here. Would have ridden back to Crownlands if you’d already left.” Arya’s words caught Gendry by surprise, and Arya could see his guard go down a little bit, as he looked down on the pieces he was holding and turned, putting them to the wagon, not saying a word for a long time.

“I’m no lord. I gave up that title.” Gendry told her, not looking at Arya as he was staring at the bottom of the wagon.

“Why not? Just because Daenerys is dead, doesn’t mean it--”

“I told you. It’s not worth it without you.” Gendry barked, now his anger flaring up as he turned to look at Arya, but instead of the sharp anger in his voice, his blue eyes only told of the sadness ripping him apart. Arya felt her voice get caught in her throat – as if she needed a confirmation Gendry had been serious.

“… Can we… Talk?” Arya finally asked, almost pleaded, but Gendry just shrugged.

“We are talking.”

“Alone.”

“… They need me at the forge.” Gendry’s voice was back to being colder. Arya felt annoyance pang in her chest, but her voice was calm.

“Come have a drink with me. It’s late, don’t try to tell me you lot weren’t finish up anyway.”

Arya could see the hesitation in Gendry’s eyes, but finally he sighed and nodded. Arya gave him the tiniest of smiles and pushed herself to stand upright, then made her way to the kitchens, Gendry at her heel, following in tense silence.

Arya grabbed a bottle of cheap wine off the shelf, the girl, no more than four and ten not bothering to stop her. Arya led Gendry though he halls and corridors of Winterfell, finally stopping in front of the library door. Arya pushed it open, Gendry following her through it, then the girl hopping onto one of the sturdy hardwood tables, patting the spot next to her, but Gendry didn’t move, staying in the spot a respectable distance between them. He was standing still, hands clasped behind his back and facing Arya.

“You wanted to talk.” Gendry started, Arya swinging the bottle to her lips, then handing it towards Gendry.

“Drink.” Her tone was commanding and Gendry did take the bottle, but stopped before he could take the first sip.

“I don’t --”

“You’ll keep your mouth shut easier if it’s full of wine.”

“I think we both know wine and I don’t go well together.” Gendry reminded her, his dry humour making the corner of Arya’s lip curl upwards for a bit. She did indeed remember the taste of wine on his lips the night he had kissed him out of the blue – right before sinking to his knees and asking her to marry him.

“Just shut up and drink.” And he did, blue eyes fixated on Arya now in the dim light of the candle set on the table.

“Alright, I think I need to … Explain some things.” Arya could see Gendry’s face stiffened, as he was bracing himself for a rejection number two, now just better explained than just “that’s not me”. Instead, the words of truth pouring from Arya’s lips were gentle, apologetic even if she never said it outright. “The night after the battle, when you proposed to me… I was scared. For two reasons. One, whether I was to be your lady or your friend you bedded once, I could lose you any moment. I told you about my list, yes? I wanted to get that done. And on top of that list, was Cersei Lannister. When I left Winterfell that night … I was sure I wasn’t coming back. And I thought back to that time when you said you had never had a family – and I figured, I can’t be just another family you lose. I couldn’t put you through that, and .. And I didn’t want to go through it, either. Because if I let myself feel for you and fall for you, I’d hesitate and … It seemed like the only option to me, at that time.”

Arya had been talking long, but the silence that followed was even longer. Gendry was staring at her, his face unreadable mix of sadness, happiness and confusion. Arya felt anxiety make room in her heart, so she reached for the bottle in Gendry’s hand. As Gendry was handing it to her, though, Arya caught him by the wrist, and gently tugged him to come closer. He took two unsure steps towards her, now close enough to touch and didn’t move back when Arya grabbed the bottle and took a long swing, before putting the bottle on the table next to her.

“And the second reason… I’m no lady. I won’t ever be a lady who wears pretty gowns and serves as a beautiful accessory on her lord husband’s hand. You deserve someone gentle and beautiful. You don’t have to settle for me just because I happen to be here.” Arya could hardly finish when Gendry let out a bitter, short laugh.

“For all the times you have called me stupid, you really are the most stupid person I’ve ever met.” Gendry’s voice was somewhere between amused and annoyed. ”Arry, I have known you as a little brat who picked fights with everyone, hair full of mud and clothes smelling like shit.” The nickname from years before made Arya’s heart jump. “And then… Then I found you again, and you were still the same brat, now just with longer hair. And little bit less mud, sometimes. I don’t want to pretty ladywife, you are all I wanted ever since you told me you’d be my family.”

There was a silence, but Arya didn’t dare to speak, as Gendry was looking for the right words.

“Remember what I told you back then? That you’d be my lady. I was a bastard on my way to the Wall. There was no way a highborn Stark would be with Waters. But … But when I was legalised an heir of House Baratheon, I realized I could have it all. And … Correct me if I’m wrong, but marrying you would be the only way you’d be mine, and then it was made possible.” Gendry’s voice grew more and more unsure, as he spoke, hand moving up to rub the back of his neck. Arya felt her heart flutter in her chest, slowly reaching for Gendry’s hands, pulling him even closer – Gendry hesitated, but then moved, his legs almost touching Arya’s knees as she sat on the table, a little bit taller than usual.

“I just… I wanted you to be my lady, not thinking it had… Such a meaning for you. I mean, of course it does, but .. I didn’t see it when I asked. I wanted to… If I got Storm’s End, I knew I was clueless, unfit to rule. But you are the most brilliant person I know, born in a castle. You know what happens inside these walls. And I know I love you, and … Marriage would be a way to combine those things. I’m just sorry I pushed it like that, then.” Gendry explained, distress clearly showing on his face.

Arya couldn’t speak for a moment; her head was spinning by the revelation brought by Gendry. Gendry had never wanted her to be just a pretty wife to parade around his lands, he wanted her council and help, but also wanted her. Even if her hair was dirty or if she wore breeches instead of a yellow silk gown. And Gendry had been with other women – he was handsome, could take his pick, yet he wanted Arya.  

She didn’t quite think about what she did, she just felt her body move – yet it felt right. Arya pulled Gendry closer to her, her lips crashing with his as he let out a noise in surprise. Arya’s hand sneaked to his neck, and she could feel his hesitant hands on her hips, as a reflex pulling her closer, to the edge of the table.

Gendry tasted like the wine, as Arya deepened the kiss, eyelids fluttering close. She never wanted this kiss to end. As Gendry tried to pull back a bit, Arya’s hand flew to his cheek, making the kiss last just a bit longer, feeling Gendry chuckle against her chapped lips.

As they finally pulled apart, trying to catch their breaths, Gendry’s eyes were wild and confused, but something deeper was swirling in the pools of blue.

“Arya, I-” he tried to say something, but Arya was quicker.

“Would you still marry me? After everything?” Arya shot the question, and for the first time in years, she was completely sure it was the right move. She wasn’t playing a game of faceless man, she was just Arya Stark who had fallen for a blacksmith and wanted to be with him, have him in her own little pack.

Gendry’s eyes shot open in surprise, but soon the earlier anger and confusion completely melted away, making space for the gentle warmth.

“You mean that? Of course I would.” His voice was breathy, his still hesitant hands coming to rest on her sides, eyes jumping on Arya’s features.

“Then do so. Marry me, Gendry.” It wasn’t a question – it was a statement.

“… You’ll come with me? To Storm’s End?” Gendry asked carefully, his hands coming up on her cheeks, holding her like she was the most precious, beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I will. And I’ll be your lady, even if it’s not the kind of lady people might want. But I’ll be yours, as you will be mine.” Arya whispered against his lips as she pressed another kiss on them, this time without the same rush or desperation, the kiss kept slow and gentle. Arya sunk her fingers to Gendry’s hair, keeping him close even when she ended the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, eyes closed.

“We both really are fucking stupid.” She murmured, laughter evident in the voice, Gendry joining in with a chuckle.


	2. Chapter 2

When Arya first brought up telling Jon about their marriage, Gendry felt his blood run cold. He was friends with Jon, and knew how fiercely protective he was over his siblings, especially Arya. There was no way he would leave that conversation with all his body parts intact, yet there was no arguing with Arya; he would know sooner or later, and Arya had just gotten a raven from King’s Landing, as Jon told her he was coming home, at least for a bit.

 

Next week Arya and Gendry tried to plan out how to tell Jon. Most of Winterfell already knew – hell, most of Westeros, or at least that was how Gendry felt – but not Jon, who had been completely oblivious to their budding relationship when he was still in Winterfell.

Arya suggested going riding – he had a higher chance of getting away from Jon if he was on horseback.

Gendry suggested getting Jon drunk and telling him then – if Gendry wasn’t drunk himself, he had higher chance of survival.

Arya suggested them going hunting together and breaking the news then – Gendry reminded her he didn’t want Jon anywhere near sharp objects when Jon was told his friend was fucking his little sister.

Gendry suggested eloping in secret – Arya didn’t really have anything against it, but they didn’t do it anyway.

 

So when Jon Snow was standing there, in the middle of the courtyard as Arya rushed to hug him and Sansa told some poor stable boy to take his horse away, Gendry realized they never finished their brilliant plan. And when Arya looked at Gendry standing at the entrance of the forge, he knew she had realized it as well.

 

* * *

 

 

The same night there was a feast for the return on the White Wolf. Arya was sitting at the table with her siblings, and for a second it reminded Gendry of the feast after the Battle of Winterfell and everything that happened after it made his heart ache. The feast had been going on for a bit, when Gendry saw Jon head out of the room, after downing many cups of ale and wine. Gendry’s blue eyes jumped to Arya’s grey and he nodded to her slightly and excused himself, heading out. Arya looked like she would panic, but didn’t follow him – at least not immediately. The slight buzz of alcohol made his feet slow and mind wander, Gendry wondering what would have happened if he had just gotten up, crossed the room and kissed Arya in front of Jon – that would sort it out. On the other hand, in the dinner table there were too many sharp objects and Gendry was sure the Unsullied wouldn’t need any more men.

Gendry made his way through the corridor he had become quite accustomed with, trying to figure out where Jon had gone. Gendry wandered around for a bit and was about to head back to the feast, when he saw Jon leaning into a window, rubbing his temples – no wonder, after the amount of drinks.

Gendry walked towards him, Jon opening his eyes and smiling wide to Gendry.

“Thought I saw you lingering around. Heard you decided to keep the Baratheon name, after all?” Jon’s voice was cheerful as were his eyes, but they dropped as soon as Gendry started talking – it seemed that was a common feature with dark-haired Stark kids.

“I’m going to marry Arya.” There was long silence after that, as if Jon was trying to figure out what kind of a joke was he pulled into. Jon chuckled softly, waving his hand at Gendry’s joke.

Gendry didn’t smile. He just waited.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Jon said slowly as he noticed how Gendry’s blue eyes were determined and serious.

“What kind of shit is that? You really think my sister would run off to be some new lord’s ladywife?”

“It seems that she would.” Gendry lifted his chin a bit, as Jon seemed to get annoyed with what he must have thought were just a new lord’s daydreams.

“She is not interested in political power.” Jon was now visibly more angry, and Gendry took a step back, as he didn’t want to experience the wrath of a Night Watch commander and a veteran of three very recent battles first-hand.

“You think I don’t know that? I love her, and I want nothing more. After I was made a lord, I just realized now I had the opportunity to do so.” Gendry’s voice was now growing louder and angrier, as he crossed his arms on his chest.

Then there was a long silence from Jon and he seemed to step down a bit, staring at something behind Gendry’s shoulder.

“You’re not marrying her for power?”

“No.”

“And she has said yes, willingly?”

“Yes.”

“What do you gain from this? Do you even know her?”

“I gain a family. Something she offered me years ago, when we were traveling together.”

Jon fell silent again after that. He lifted his hands to his hair, eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark.

“I need to talk to her about this, as well. I can’t.. When did this even happen?” Gendry wanted to say it happened somewhere between his sister offering to be his family and her straddling him, but Gendry valued his life too much to say it.

“… Kind of when I came to Winterfell? Arya recognized me and … Yeah. But I swear, I’ll be true and just to her, won’t let anyone lay a hand on her --”

“Like she wouldn’t cut a hand like that off herself.” Jon noted jokingly, yet he seemed mildly angry and confused about the whole situation.

“… I respect you telling me. And I know Arya enough to know she wouldn’t take any man as her husband on a moment’s whim, so whatever I think of this she wouldn’t listen anyway. Besides, marrying for love is much better than any of our parents seemed to get.” Then a realization hit Jon and he looked bewildered again. “You didn’t put a fucking baby in her belly, did you? If this is just to avoid another bastard--”

“Gods, no! I mean, I don’t want any unhappy bastards in the world because of me, but it’s not like that. She is marrying me for her own will, not for riches or houses or babes.” Gendry explained hastily, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. Jon stared at him for a bit before nodding.

“… Alright. I want to talk to Arya, but… I don’t have a say in this, and even if I did, I know you’re a good man. I was sure Arya wouldn’t ever marry, so you must be some kind of a rarity to catch her eye.” Jon finally admitted, seeming more than little distraught. Gendry kept standing there, awkwardly, before Jon looked back to him and chuckled lightly.

“Go back to the feast, lad. I’m not going to cut your cock off for marrying my little sister.” Jon laughed, even though the laugh had a dark edge to it; Gendry was sure he would do it if he’d ever hear Gendry mistreating Arya.

Gendry made his way back to the great hall, opening the door and letting the warmth and noises of drunk men envelope him as he walked back to his seat, though it had been overtaken by someone. As Gendry was looking at a place to sit, his eyes caught Arya’s, who was looking at him, eyebrows raised. Gendry flashed a teethy, wide grin to her, and it seemed Arya let out a breath she had to been holding in for a while.

At least Gendry had survived the scariest part of marrying Arya now. Now, there was just the ceremony, but it didn't feel quite as scary as walking to the den of the White Wolf. 

**Author's Note:**

> *jumps over unfinished schoolwork to write this* parkour


End file.
